


Dragon Age One-Shots

by g00dproblemstohave



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alistair x OC Warden, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blushing Alistair (Dragon Age), Dalish Accent, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Dragon Age - Freeform, F/M, Family Member Death, Fenris - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), I Love Zevran Arainai, I really just love Zevran, King Alistair (Dragon Age), One Shot, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age), Some Fluff, Sweet Alistair (Dragon Age), Warden Tabris (Dragon Age), Zevran x OC Tabris, let me know if you want full fics, willing to write thousands of words for Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g00dproblemstohave/pseuds/g00dproblemstohave
Summary: Just some DA one-shots from all the games :) Feel free to request a character or a plot!
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Fenris/Female Hawke, Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris
Kudos: 9





	1. One-Sided Reminiscent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran x Female Rogue Tabris

Zevran tipped a bottle back, and in the warm glow of the campfire, his skin had a sultry, lavish gleam. My eyes could not help but trace his neck as he swallowed. The flush in my skin climbed up my chest, spreading its way to my cheeks and into my thoughts. It was always easier to think after a drink or two. A bad habit, surely. But it made the world that much easier to live in, and I’d take what I could get.  


“Alright Morrigan, we get one question out of you.” Alistair, who sat on the opposite side of the fire, pointed his own bottle in her direction. In my staring, I’d nearly forgotten everyone else was here too. Alistair was likely the most drunk of everyone, except perhaps Oghren, but I’m not even sure if Oghren can achieve a true drunkenness anymore. The poor Dwarf was practically desensitized to even the strongest of alcohols.  


Morrigan turned from the crate she’d been rooting through. “No.” Her golden eyes were narrowed into smoldering slits.  


“Oh, come on!” Alistair’s mouth stretched into such a broad, childish grin that set the whole circle into a fit of chuckles. “The fire’s warm!”  


“I have my own.” She left it at that and took an extra bed roll.  


“One question!” Alistair begged, holding his bottle to his chest like a doll. “Please, Morri, please!”  


She turned on her heel, glaring at him with such a ferocity that I had half a mind to find a shield for the poor bastard. But then, to my surprise, she said, “One.” Granted, it was more of a growl, but the fact that Alistair’s head was still attached, it was quite the feat.  


I turned to Zevran, and he already looked to me. Apparently, he was just as shocked as I was, and we were both letting it show.  


“Are Elves always so transparent?” Sten leaned down towards me, though he barely spoke below normal volume.  


I shrugged.  


Morrigan had come no closer to the fire. She simply stared, like a prowling mountain cat, at Alistair. He himself didn’t even seem to have expected it. He fumbled about, blinking and sputtering, looking from person to person as if they could summon the perfect question to ask to reclusive mage.  


Then, he looked to her, and stared back for a moment. A moment, though, is long enough to be considered bold when dealing with her. “Morrigan?”  


She did not reply, nor did she move.  


“What is your favorite thing to eat?”  


I felt my own eyes bat with confusion. Of all the questions, he asked that?  


Beside me, Wynne giggled.  


“What? What is it?” I whispered.  


Wynne covered her mouth in such a girlish manner. “Oh nothing. Just that’s the sort of question you’d expect of a young boy looking to woo a girl in the market.”  


That brought a coy smirk to my face as I whipped my attention back to Alistair, who, to his credit, didn’t back down from the question.  


Morrigan raised a single brow. “Any one question you could have asked, and you decide on what I prefer to eat?”  


He only tilted his head, motioning for her to answer.  


She lowered the bedroll to rest on one of her hips. “I have eaten all of what the Wilds had to offer me, prepared in a different way each and every time. Food isn’t a luxury, as you would like to think. ‘Tis survival. I don’t have a favorite, so long as it keeps me alive.”  


“Each and every time?” I asked. “Sounds like a lot of effort for someone who doesn’t care.”  


Morrigan turned to me, and the sharpness of her gaze was my immediate cue to sarcasm. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear Narah! What I had meant to say was that I enjoy nothing better than a sweet lemon cake, covered in the finest of confectionaries, and preferably handed to me by none other than the most handsome man in town!”  


I raised my bottle to her. “There you go! Was that so hard?”  


She scoffed. “Children. All of you.” Her back turned to us, and she began retreating to her own camp separate from ours.  


Conversation began to start up again, and Leliana became the target of questioning.  


I watched Morrigan go, the image dragging me from my jovial mood. Wynne nudged my shoulder. “Something troubling you?”  


“I only want her to join in on the fun. I know that’s not what she wants, but I don’t want her to think we don’t want her here.” I took a swig from my bottle. “She’s just such a cranky bitch that it’s hard to experiment with how to connect.”  


Wynne laughed. “She certainly is rather cranky.”  


I shook my head. “I’m just not used to someone not wanting to join in, I suppose. In the Alienage, when fun was to be had, everyone partook. There was only so much of it, so we took advantage of it when we could.”  


“I find it hard to believe she’s never had fun before in her life.”  


“The only times I’ve heard her talk about fun to me have had to do with luring men to either their death or false imprisonment, and I’m not keen of the idea of using Alistair as fodder for Morrigan’s murderous wiles.”  


“Hm. Yes, that does seem to be a tricky thing to accommodate.”  


A few spots over, Leliana burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, alcohol spurting from her nose onto her lap. This, of course, set off everyone else. Even Sten shook his head. Whether it was in disappointment, disbelief, or amusement, it didn’t matter. Getting him to emote at all was always a feat.  


“Well, regardless,” Wynne snatched my bottle from my hand and took a poised sip, “you can’t help everyone. Trying to save Ferelden is task enough. If Morrigan doesn’t wish to partake in some drinking, you can’t blame her for it.” Another sip. “In fact, it’s wrong of us to consider it ‘help’ at all. Who’s to say what we’re doing is what everyone should be doing. We would look quite foolish if we were ambushed, would we not?”  


“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” I let my focus return to the circle around me. “You’re right. But I’d be a fool to not have fun while I can.” I took the bottle back. “All the Darkspawn, murder, demon slaughtering, and important political decisions is quite taxing, you know.”  


“I do know, since you’ve dragged me into it,” she said, though not unkindly.  


“Narah!” Zevran shouted from a few people over. I felt a giddiness inside of me at the sound of my name from his voice- the way he rolled the ‘r’ was always so unique and foreign, and it made the most inane smile involuntarily take over my face.  


“Y-yes?” I barely recovered the stutter. Blush was sinking into my cheeks, overpowering the slight drunken red they already swam in.  


Wynne snorted. I did my best not to react lest I gave myself away.  


Any question at all was what we had decided, and we were to answer as best and as honestly as we could. In theory, the prospect was a bit scary thinking that anyone could have discovered anything they wished to know. In practice, I longed for him to ask the most personal thing he could muster, if only for him to get to know me better, if only for him to see me. It didn’t matter if everyone else heard the answer, so long as he did.  


“Narah,” he said again, and goosebumps rose on my skin. “If you were not here, if you had not become a Grey Warden, where would you be right now?”  


A disappointing question, in truth.  


“It’s not the happiest answer, really. I’d rather you asked another.”  


“Too late, he’s already asked,” Alistair said.  


Leliana shot me a brief look of worry. Still, I could see Zevran’s curiosity overpowered any sympathy he may have had. It was fair, I suppose. We all had our sadness and tragedy. No point in being embarrassed.  


“Dead, most likely,” I stated bluntly. “Before Duncan invoked The Right of Conscription, I was about to be arrested by Denerim guards.”  


“What did you do?” Oghren asked. “Wouldn’t peg you to have gotten arrested.”  


“Why? Because I’m a woman?”  


“I’ve met plenty of women who’d be more of a help to society if we threw them in steel cages and tossed them in the Deep Roads instead of letting them rot in some dungeon. If they’re lucky, the Darkspawn’d last a month, and that’s only if the ladies couldn’t figure out how to pick the lock any faster.”  


Everyone laughed a bit at that, and I was relieved. It made the air feel a little less like it was about to collapse upon me.  


“I just figured they kept you city Elves on tight leashes. Not much room to get arrested if all you’ve got space to do is piss and kiss ass.”  


My knuckles turned white on the bottle in my fist. It wasn’t a malicious comment, but it was nonetheless offensive.  


“Oh, and what’s there to do in Orzammar? Drink yourself to death? Mope over women who’d rather risk their life than share your bed? Stare at your rocky ceiling and pretend it’s anything other than a self-inflicted cage?”  


Oghren made a grunting sound that wasn’t all that different from a growl. A warning, but I could tell he was drunk enough to let it slide. “What’d you do, then?”  


I rubbed one hand in the dirt around me. “I killed the Arl’s son.”  


Silence.  


Wood popped in the fire. The logs readjusted and ash flew up with the smoke into the dark night sky.  


“I’d heard he was killed, but I didn’t know…” Alistair spoke softly. “Duncan didn’t say…”  


“Probably for the best he didn’t,” I interrupted. “The Right of Conscription protected me from the law, but there’s nothing that can protect you from some loyal fanatic killing you in your sleep, if they’re determined enough.”  


It was quiet for another beat, but then Zevran asked, “Why did you do it?”  


I pursed my lips, eyes cast down to the ground. “There were a lot of things he did that day that were cause enough. The world’s better off without him.”  


“I think,” Leliana cut in, “it’s getting late, and we should get to bed while we can.”  


“I agree.” Wynne began to stand up. “Sten and I will take watch first.”  


Sten nodded in agreement.  


“We’ll wake you for the second half till morning,” she continued, pointing to Leliana and Alistair.  


“Aw, why me? Narah and Zevran get to sleep?” Alistair moped, his bottle barely clinging to his fingertips.  


“They took watch last night, you did not.”  


“Then make Morrigan do it.”  


“Morrigan must watch for herself. We needn’t burden her with our own schedules.”  


Alistair made several more begruntled noises before slogging off into his tent. The rest of the group seemed to trickle off as well. I stood up, though my attention was elsewhere. It was hard to concentrate on the ground beneath my feet when all I could think about was Shianni.  


How broken she had looked. How badly they had hurt her, both in mind and soul. How, even though I hadn’t truly saved her, even though I hadn’t been quick enough, how happy she had been to see me.  


I pushed back the tent of my flap with little care, then immediately chugged the remaining contents of the bottle in my hand. A burn akin to acid scorched my throat into my belly. It was a relief I had no watch tonight, otherwise it’d be more of a risk than a help.  


The Alienage. That wretched, awful place. The people made it good. The people made the walls feel less like we were being kept in and more like they were being kept out. We made it our own. But then that stupid Human lord had to come in and make sure we knew we were nothing but the shit on his boot.  


I chucked off my clothes and lay flat on my bedroll in my undergarments. The cured wolf hide blanket tickled my shoulder blades slightly, but I paid it no mind. I held one of my daggers and rested the point on my opposite finger.  


I only made things worse for my people by killing that sadistic bastard. Even though I was gone, the Arl was sure to make things worse for them. He seemed to drool for any excuse to remind us we’re less than, that we were once slaves, and it is their own mercy that spares us.  


I caught my reflection in the steel. It was a nasty scowl, an expression so bitter I could taste the foulness on my tongue. Or perhaps that was the alcohol.  


I closed my eyes.  


My tent flap opened.  


I didn’t care who entered.  


“What do you want?” I mumbled, letting my dagger fall flat on my bare stomach. The metal was cold, but it grounded me at least.  


“I actually came in here to apologize.” Zevran, then.  


“Apologize for what? You’ve done nothing wrong.” I didn’t even have the dignity to feel embarrassed. By Andraste, he’d seen a woman before, and I’d seen myself. Hardly any difference, certainly no need to hide.  


“Perhaps not, but I feel as though I have overstepped.”  


And maybe he had. Did it matter? Not particularly.  


“Well, thank you for your apology. I accept. If that is all you wished to say- “  


“No, it isn’t.”  


I was pleasantly surprised by the eagerness of his reaction. Still, I did my best not to let it show. “Well, go on then.”  


The bedroll moved slightly as I felt him sit down beside me. I opened my eyes. His lower back pressed against my hip, and he was looking out at the wall of the tent. There were no lights inside, but our Elven eyes were much better at seeing in dim light than those of a Human.  


It was easy enough to see how the fine material of his shirt rested on his back, how it exposed the tops of his shoulders around his neck. Strong, lean muscle was carved into him, likely from endless days of training and pain.  


“What did he do to you?” Zevran’s voice held a sentiment I’d only heard twice before- once when he mentioned his mother, and once when he spoke of Antiva. “You are not one to balk at murder. I have seen you kill Dwarves, Humans, Elves, Darkspawn. Of course, you always try to reason first, I do not know why.”  


I snorted and rolled my eyes.  


“But you still do it. Because you are willing to do anything to end the Blight.”  


“I don’t see the connected you’re trying to make.”  


“What did this man do that gave you reason to kill him? It must have taken a lot. You knew what would happen to you and your family. The son of an Arl? That is no minor offense.”  


I focused my attention on the cold metal, on the slight sting compared to the still air around us. “I didn’t think about what would happen afterwards, really.”  


I didn’t continue for a moment, but Zevran did not interrupt. He didn’t even look at me, he kept his eyes on the tent’s wall. I appreciated the gesture. It was privacy without loneliness.  


“I was to be married that day. Long story short, he wanted women, and who were we to stand up to him? He dragged us out, locked us up, killed my betrothed, and raped my cousin.” The words came out with a dullness to them. I tried not to think about how they tasted. “When I finally got to him, when I finally killed all of his guards and got to him, if he had let us all go and sworn to never come to the Alienage again, I might have let him go, honestly. But he tried to pay me off. Told me to leave the city that night for forty sovereigns, and abandon my cousin and the other women.”  


I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear dripped down the side of my face. It went down and down, falling past my ear and onto my clothing-stuffed pillow.  


“I had to kill him then. There was no other choice for me.”  


I sniffed in a very unattractive, snotty way. That was what made Zevran turn. His expression was soft. It was kind, and gentle, and understanding. But I saw the pain there too. He knew what I felt.  


“Some people deserve to die,” he said simply.  


I scoffed. “An understatement, if I’ve ever heard one.” Another tear dripped down, but before I could apologize for it, he wiped it away.  


In one of the most intimate periods of silence I had ever experienced, Zevran took the dagger from my skin and set it down on the ground. I watched him move, and in that moment, I knew if I had the chance to do everything differently, I wasn’t sure I would. If I had the chance to stay home, to be married, to live docile and safe, I wouldn’t take it. Not if it meant I never would have met him.  


He lay down beside me, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and grabbed my hand. The quiet was a song in itself. We stared up at the roof of the tent together until sleep overtook us, and for the first time in weeks, I slept peacefully.


	2. Firelight Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris x Female Rogue Hawke

Alone. That’s what she was. Completely and utterly alone.  


Thalia Hawke stood beside the fireplace, staring into the burning embers of the logs that had long since died.  


Died.  


Dead.  


Her father. Carver. Bethany. And now her mother. All gone.  


The heat from the fire had already begun to drift away, but that was not the cause of the debilitating cold that shook her from head to toe. Her silken robe felt smothering. Every breath was a laborious task, one she felt she was not worthy of doing.  


Hawke stared. The thickest smoke found their way into her eyes, but she did not blink. She did not cry. Instead, she only stared into the dying abyss of what she had always known to be life.  


“Hawke.”  


It was such a simple thing. Her name. Her family name. Hearing it aloud made a chilled hand run up her spine, leaving an aching emptiness where its fingers traced.  


“Fenris,” she replied, eyes unwavering. Her legs hurt from standing for so long, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit. Not in that chair, where Mother had written so many letters and propositions, all for her only remaining child’s benefit.  


What good had that done her? What good had she- had Thalia- done for her.  


There was a silence as Fenris walked over to her, standing several feet away. “I have not seen you leave the house recently.”  


“Been watching me, have you?” Her words came out duller than she’d meant, less than up to par with her regular sharp wits.  


“I’ve been…” he stopped himself. One foot reached up to scratch the back of the other. “It’s been a few days now, Hawke.”  


“Don’t,” she nearly shouted, eyes shut tightly. One deep breath. Two. Her heartbeat slowed. “Don’t call me that.” She paused. Her eyes slowly peeled open. “Please.”  


From the corner of her vision, she saw him nod.  


“Thalia,” he corrected.  


Hearing his voice say her own name felt foreign, though welcome. She wondered if he’d every said it before. He certainly hadn’t to her face, or else she would have been more familiar with the vibrant feeling it caused.  


“We’re all worried about you.”  


“I appreciate the concern.”  


A frustrated huff. “Have you been eating?”  


“Orana makes delicious stews.”  


“Drinking?”  


“Drinking to forget doesn’t have the same sport in it as for fun.”  


“I meant water. You’re likely to get dehydrated if you’ve been crying.”  


Hawke stiffened, her shoulders tensing. Some black hair fell over her forehead, almost reaching past her eyebrows in an attempt to shield her eyes. “I haven’t been crying, Fenris.”  


He took a step closer. “I didn’t mean any offense by it.” He sounded as blunt and coarse as always, speaking only the truth, for he knew little else. It was always either honesty or nothing when it came to conversations with him. It was… refreshing. Especially compared to all the talking backwards and in circles most people did in Kirkwall. Everyone had a hidden agenda. Except Fenris.  


“Mm,” she hummed.  


“I just assumed you would cry. You have never struck me as one who is afraid to show emotion.”  


“What emotions have I shown?”  


He thought for a moment, walking over to stand beside her. The fire was dying out. Barely a lick of heat remained in the orange remnants of wood.  


“I have seen confidence. Self-assurance. Anger, certainly. Humor, amusement. After your sister died, I remember seeing sadness, but you seemed to swallow it down, hide it with guilt.”  


Hawke bit down on the inside of her cheek. Iron filled her mouth, tangy and metallic with a bitter warmth.  


Fenris took a breath, then stopped. He froze before the words could pass his lips. He released the air inside of him.  


“You were not at fault for that,” he stated.  


She scoffed, though her face remained entirely blank.  


“You weren’t, Thalia,” he repeated. “No one could’ve guessed… Would have known what would have happened to her down there.”  


“Which is exactly why,” Hawke spoke through gritted teeth, “I shouldn’t have let her come in the first place.”  


“You were trying to protect her by keeping her close by.”  


“So, I suppose this isn’t one of the times you’ll berate me for not allowing her to join The Circle.”  


Fenris shifted side to side, his arms crossing slowly over his chest. “She was… a good girl. Kind. Driven. I’m glad that if I had to work with any apost-… Any mage,” Hawke heard the shift in his voice, the obvious effort he was making. “If I had to work with any mage. I’m glad it was her.”  


Hawke stood still. The last tint of fire flickered out, leaving the two in darkness. “She deserved better,” she whispered into the pitch black. “Better than me…”  


Fenris remained silent. A gentle silver hue hovered around his silhouette, though it did nothing to penetrate the secure invisibility night provided.  


“They all did.” A lump formed in Thalia’s throat. “Mother was right to blame me for Carver…” One crack in her voice was all it took for her heart to plummet deep into her stomach, sinking the weight of grief far, far down until it nearly dragged her into the dirt. “I was the oldest, I should have protected them… all of them.”  


Still, Fenris said nothing.  


“I should’ve known what was best for Bethany… Especially here. We would never have been able to hide her forever. She didn’t deserve to die down there…”  


In her heart, her mind, even her hand, Thalia could still feel the dagger going through her sister’s heart. She felt it push against her skin, then break through. She felt every give, every tear of skin and muscle. The blood had been the most disgusting sight she’d ever seen. She’d retched for hours.  


“She didn’t deserve to die at all…” The blue and silver hue became hazy as something started to obstruct her vision. “Neither did Carver.” She sniffed, the sound of snot filling the pure stillness of the room. “He had so many dreams… So many hopes. He’d never tell them to me. He despised me.” Thalia hung her head low. “I tried so hard to be someone he could look up to, but all he’d wanted was to be better. In trying to be good for him, I only made him feel as though I were trying to hide him forever, take everything for myself.  


“Bethany was our middle ground. Always.” A sob nearly tore past her throat. Nearly. She swallowed it, breathing the pain away. “And Mother loved us all so fiercely… so fiercely,” she repeated with a tight smile. Her chin quivered. Her lips shook.  


Her face cracked and withered until it scrunched up into nothing, nothing like herself at all. “It was all my fault she died… I should have watched her, should have been home more, I should have run faster to her-”  


And then, she broke.  


The sobs came in heavy waves, wracking her rigid body into vulnerable convulsions of grief. Nothing about her was the Hawke Fenris knew, at least the Hawke she had let them all see. This was different, something much more delicate. Precious.  


Fenris turned to face her. He could see her in the black, see her shaking shoulders and bowed head, her arms slowly coming up to her face. He could see her knees beginning to bend, slowly lowering her closer and closer to the floor.  


Before he truly thought about it, he reached out to her. His hands grabbed her shoulders, and he held her up. Almost immediately she fell onto him. Her legs failed her entirely, just as her painless façade had.  


Her face buried itself in his chest, four years-worth of tears pouring out of her like a dam that had been broken. She grabbed at him with her fingers, grabbing onto whatever she could. And cried. Maker, did she cry.  


Fenris really didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say, how to hold her, how to move. He only knew he wanted this all to stop. He wanted her to never feel this way again. He wished that none of this pain had ever crossed her path in the first place. He couldn’t think of another person who was less deserving than her of it all.  


So, he said the one thing he knew people said. At times, it made his teeth grind. Others, it only made him snort with indignation. But still, it was all he knew to say.  


“It will be alright,” he said.  


Thalia felt his breath against the top of her head, and it only made her press against him further. She wanted to hide. She wanted to feel everything. She didn’t want other people to look up to her anymore, she didn’t want to protect anyone.  


She wanted to be protected. To not have to worry about everyone and herself.  


“It will be alright.”  


And so, she continued to cry. When her hands began to loosen their grip and her tears began to lose momentum, Fenris carried her to her room and fell asleep on the floor, leaning against a bedpost.  


He awoke before the sun had risen with Thalia’s hand reaching over the edge, lightly holding onto his shirt.  


Fenris scribbled a note then left, unseen and unheard by all.  


Thalia only read the note with a ghost of a smile. Behind that smile, though, a new fire lit. Small and barely burning, but it produced its own warmth.  


I’ll be back tomorrow.


	3. Lathbora Viran PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair x Female Dalish Rogue

There is something the Dalish call Din’Anshiral: a journey of death. Some of the Elders say that everyone has a Din’Anshiral, and it is when we each die. Others think it is some grand, fatalistic quest, where only few get to go down the trails of victory only to come to their worthy demise at the end. Some find it plain; others find it heroic.  


I’ve never been one for worrying about it. Not until the whole Grey Warden thing, anyway. It makes it hard to avoid thinking about death when the one thing you’re chasing after is a dragon, and along the way are literal beings of death. Their taint is the corruption of the earth, the death of her. And, I often feared, the death of me.  


Gentle moonlight filtered through the leaves. It was full and bright tonight, a large gem in the sky. The dirt beneath me was soft, and the grass clung to itself and my leathers with gentle, grasping hands. I ran my fingers through it, feeling the tree against my back push strongly against me.  


Camp was only several yards away. I needed the space. The quiet.  


My bow and quiver rested beside me, just within reach. I was safe here, at least for now. The campfire was lit, and around it I could see many of my companions drinking and laughing. They’d certainly earned it. After yesterday, Alistair and I had enacted nearly all of the treaties. All that was left was to see the Dalish.  


I knew my clan had already begun wandering. By the time I had left, we’d stayed too long in one place as it was. A small part of me hoped, still, that as we walked through the forest to a neighboring clan, I would spot a familiar trap, a known pattern. Something of them.  


I looked up to the sky, to the moon and stars. Marethari once told me and Tamlen that if we were ever lost, the stars would help us home. It was a foolish thing to say, since one can hardly see stars when drowned beneath a thick forest canopy. We shouldn’t have bothered trying to rely on stars when simply not getting lost was far easier.  


Even so. I looked at the stars. And I hoped my Keeper watched them too.  


“Ashara!”  


My hand wrapped around the yew bow from habit, but I knew I had nothing to fear. Certainly not from him. “Alistair.” I nodded my head in greeting. “How do you do tonight?”  


If I had to say kind words of a Shemlen, it was certainly very easy to say them of Alistair. As he approached, his hair was askew in every possible direction, a gleam of sweat lining his brow. He did not don his armor- a rare sight- and instead only wore thin linens. Probably nightclothes. They made it impossible to not notice his physique.  


A very impressive physique.  


“I must say I’m doing very well!” His grin reflected every kind of light. A foolish part of me loved it. A very foolish part indeed.  


“Why are you not celebrating then?” I pointed my chin back over to the fire. “With the others?”  


“I didn’t think it was fair that we were all over there, and you were over here brooding.” He slid down a tree opposite of mine and rested his elbow atop a knee. “You’re alright, aren’t you?”  


I sighed. “I am not injured, no.” My hand stop dragging along the bow’s wood and rested back in my lap. “Nothing’s wrong. Not really.”  


“Then why are you out here?”  


An innocent question. It usually was with him. I’d come to learn that Alistair truly did not know many things, and when he asked questions it was almost always out of curiosity instead of any other malicious means. It was endearing, honestly. One would be pressed hard to find a male Dalish Elf willing to throw his pride away to ask a question he did not know the answer to.  


“I miss home,” I said simply. “I miss my people.”  


“And we’re going to the Dalish next,” he completed my thought.  


I nodded.  


“Is your clan still in the area? I know the Dalish move often, but I’m afraid that’s all I know, other than what you’ve told me.”  


“What I’ve told you is hardly cultural.” I roll my eyes with a smile. “Foraging and arrow making are simple skills anyone should know to survive.”  


“Well, when I become a better shot with a bow, I’ll let you know how my arrows look,” he joked.  


“I think, for the bow’s sake, it’d be better for you to stick with your swords and shields.”  


He laughed. But at my silence, he quieted. We stared at one another for quite some time, just looking. Our faces, eyes, hair, necks, clothing.  


“You will see them again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  


I shook my head, lowering my eyes to the ground. My braid held firm, as always. I wished it would fall over my face, to cover my eyes, my blushing cheeks, so that I could just hide for a single moment. “We don’t know that, Alistair.”  


“If anyone can live through this, I’ve got a lot of reason to believe it’d be you.”  


He said it with such certainty that I was inclined to believe him. I may have been foolish enough to find him handsome, but I wasn’t yet foolish enough to have such unlikely hopes.  


“I’m just as likely to live through this as you are, Alistair.”  


He scoffed, and I looked up to him. “You say to the man who can barely survive on his own.”  


“You say to the woman who has only known one world for most of her life.”  


“Before the Wardens, The Chantry was my life, for the most part.” He reached up a hand to scratch the slight stubble on his jaw. A very un-Elven trait. I’d never felt a beard before. I was curious. “I lived in Redcliffe for a while before that, as you know.” I nodded. “Really though, not much of a life for me either.”  


“Until not too long ago, Shem,” I teased, reaching my foot out to kick his boot, “you were the enemy.” He smiled back at me, a flirtatious mischief twinkling in his eyes.  


“Am I still the enemy?”  


Despite my immediate impulse, I took some time to consider. “You are too harmless to be the enemy.”  


“Hey!” His small pout was enough to make me chuckle.  


“But in the grand scheme, everyone should only have one enemy. The Blight.” My hands returned to the grass. “This civil war Loghain insists on fighting… It’s madness, really.”  


Alistair bit his lip, looking out to the darker parts of the forest. We were silent for a few beats. “Do you ever…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you ever wish…” As he leaned forward, the low neckline of his shirt exposed muscles and faint scars across his chest. The white stripes of skin were almost glowing in the moonlight. I couldn’t help but stare. “Do you ever wish you had been assigned with someone else to go to the Tower? Of Ishaal, I mean.”  


I tilted my head at him, the question completely catching me off guard. “Do you?”  


Alarm took over his voice as he quickly tried to recover. “No, no of course not! In fact, I couldn’t imagine being beside anyone better, really.” He stared into my eyes, and I saw the truth of what he said.  


The weight of what he said.  


It wasn’t until recently that we could talk about Ostagar or the battle there without a faraway look coming into his eyes. I had done my best to help him with Duncan’s death, but human customs were very different from our own, and my own losses weren’t much to compare. Besides, I truly did not grieve much for the man. A soldier who died in battle died true to their name.  


We were still staring at one another, Alistair and I. “You don’t think you’re worthy of being here, do you?”  


He pressed his lips together, and I was sure he noticed I still hadn’t answered the question. “I keep thinking about what the Guardian said, at Andraste’s temple.”  


“He said many things.” The image of Tamlen appearing flashed through my brain, but I managed to ignore it. I had gotten much better at that lately.  


“Yeah, he did. But… I was thinking about what he said, before we even started his gauntlet.” Again, he scratched his cheek. He went quiet, so I did the same, waiting for him to continue speaking. “I still sometimes think this would all be so much better if Duncan were here. If I’d been on the field, if I’d been the one who died.”  


I thought about it. I owed Duncan that at least. I gave it honest thought, whether it would be better if Duncan were here.  


“I’m not sure I would be as happy if Duncan were my travel companion.”  


Genuine shock. “Why?”  


“He was not as easy on the eyes as you are.”  


The shock morphed quickly into tempered amusement. “He was quite the hit with the ladies, I heard. Back in his younger days, they practically begged him for attention.”  


I rolled my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure.”  


“I’m not joking!”  


“Whatever you say.” I smirked at him, watching the flush rise on his own cheeks. “But I truly am glad it’s you I’m stuck with. There are many worse fates, but I’m not sure if there are any better ones.”  


“Is that supposed to be a real compliment? Cause all I’m getting from that is I’m pretty and it could be worse.” He was smiling, so I knew it was a joke.  


I shrugged. “Take it however you’d like.”  


We sat together under the trees and moonlight for some time, and at one point it almost seemed like he fell asleep with his chin to his chest. But his breathing never changed, and neither of us truly slept.  


I liked being near him. And to me, that was dangerous. It was dangerous because if I didn’t lose him tomorrow, or the day after that, or even in the battle with the Archdemon, I would lose him one day when I returned to my clan. Even if I left my clan, if I were so foolish to do so, our plan was for him to become King. I would never lower myself to be some Human King’s mistress, and never in a hundred years would Fereldan let one of the Dalish be their Queen. The thought of losing him when he wasn’t even mine already hurt too much to think about.  


Better to just keep quiet.  


“How do you do that?” he asked with a small hint of wonder.  


My attention left my thoughts. “Do what?”  


“You sit so still, it’s like you’re hardly breathing, or even alive!” His back wasn’t against the tree anymore. He was laying on his back, arms behind his head as he looked at me.  


“Oh, I forgot we do that.” A slight breeze blew by, but no scents or sounds carried with it. “All Elves can do it, but those raised amongst humans or in cities are hardly able. When we don’t move, we are truly still. Humans stand ‘still’, but even when you think you are not moving, your bodies are jerking all over the place with your breathing and heartbeat.”  


He looked thoughtful, which Morrigan would say is a dangerous thing, but I thought it was adorable. “What’s something else? About the Elves,” he clarified. “Tell me something else about them.”  


About them. Not about me.  


I pretended not to notice his choice of words when I continued, “Well, what sort of things would you like to know? It’s not exactly in my place to start describing every aspect of our lives and culture.”  


“What’s something you miss?”  


I took a moment to answer, as I so often did. “The songs.”  


“The songs?”  


“The songs, the music, the fires, the instruments.” With a deep breath in, the sounds and smells of drums and strings and flutes entangling their sounds with fire smoke overwhelmed me. Goosebumps rose on my skin. “Human music is interesting, it’s sometimes good even. But I will never prefer it to that of the Dalish.”  


“Can you play any instruments?”  


“Oh,” I shook my head, raising my hands in unison, “definitely not.” He laughed at that. “I sang though. Most everyone sings in my clan.”  


His eyebrows shot up. “How come I haven’t heard you sing before?”  


“You suppose when we finally head to Denerim I should sing a little song about why we shouldn’t fight each other and only the Darkspawn?”  


“I’m not saying to not do that.”  


I laughed, then shrugged. “It’s not a skill I think is worthy of boasting. Leliana has a much nicer voice. I’ll leave the singing to her.”  


Alistair groaned. “Most of her songs are about either Orlais, the Maker, or they are way to nuanced for me to understand what’s going on. Really! She sang one about a Mabari and a Raven earlier, and the whole time they were talking about some kind of bread, and I really hadn’t the slightest idea of what was going on.”  


“So, nothing out of the ordinary then,” I teased.  


“Alright, alright, I get it, I’m the brainless Oaf of the group.” He turned his head back towards the sky.  


“The fact you ask so many questions reassures me that you do have a brain. It’s Sten I worry about.” I scooted forward and lay on my own back a yard away. “He hardly says a thing, and it’s usually either about how he doesn’t expect me to be competent or about how we waste time by eating and breathing and sleeping.”  


“The Qunari aren’t exactly known for being a pleasant lot to spend time with.”  


“Neither are we, but here you are, seeking out a Dalish Elf on your own accord.”  


“Many of the stories describe human-hating savages, not many really mention that you’re huge softies who adopt stray dogs and listen to music.”  


“Softies?” I scoff. “I wouldn’t say that.”  


“Very generous, as well,” he carried on. “Every time someone asks for a coin, you give it to them. Never ask questions.”  


“They likely need it more than I do, if they’re begging.”  


“I’ve never seen someone part with their sovereigns so willingly!”  


I shrugged, even though he likely wasn’t looking. “At my clan, we don’t all carry around coins or money. Our Keeper controls the clan’s savings, which we get from selling furs or herbs or weapons.”  


He whistles lowly. “It’s hard to think of a life where money doesn’t play much of a part at all.”  


“We take care of one another. If someone grows too old to hunt for themselves, we hunt for them. If someone is too young to learn to stitch, we make their clothes. With Humans, if you grow too old or you’re too young, if there’s no reward in helping, no one will.”  


“I wish you were wrong.” He sounded like he meant it.  


“I do too. I’m sorry you grew up in a world like that.”  


The leaves rustled softly. Moonlight continued to shine through, but it had already reached its peak in the sky. The night was halfway over, only six or seven hours until daylight.  


“Alistair?”  


“Hm?”  


“I am going to ask a favor of you.”  


“Of course, what is it?”  


My heart jumped at his eager response, his willingness to help me with whatever I need. But I did not smile, not as I watched the stars.  


“If at any point I die, please return my body to my clan.”  


I knew part of him wanted to say something to the extent of, ‘But you won’t die,’ or ‘You’ll make it there yourself.’ But we would never know for sure. Not until this was all said and done.  


“You have my word.”  


I turned to look at him. He already looked to me. We were so close, yet so far apart. I could see the lines from every smile, every laugh. I could see the pooling honey in his eyes. The pinkness of his lips. Still, he was too far away for me to reach out and hold him, to rest my hand on his cheek and feel stubble, to press my brow to his.  


“Thank you.”  


He nodded.  


“You are kind,” I said, “and strong, and brave. You think of others before yourself, sometimes too often. You are curious.” The smile I gave was almost more to myself than him. “You will make a fine King, Alistair. But if fate were to have gone any other way, you would not have made an awful Elf.”  


He exhaled a sharp laugh from his nose, his lips twitching upwards the faintest bit. We stared at one another. It was painful to look at him. It reminded me of how much I stood to lose, no matter how successful we were.  


Every time he spoke, every time I saw him, every time I watched him fight or laugh or drink or smile. I could not help but wonder if he thought the same things when he looked at me. It was silly to think so, if not plainly stupid. Yet so badly, so, so badly, I wanted him to admire me in the way I adored him.  


“Lathbora viran,” I whispered.  


“What does that mean?”  


I shook my head. “Nothing.”  


“It’s not some secret Dalish insult is it? Or a ‘I was just messing with you; I take it back?’”  


“No, not at all.”  


“Hmph. Guess I better start touching up on my Dalish then.”  


“Good luck finding someone who’ll teach you.”  


He sat up and slowly stood off the ground. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” He stretched his back, reaching his arms over his head. I bit my lip until it nearly bled to keep myself from looking where his shirt raised. “I’m going to bed now, care to come along?”  


My eyes opened wide.  


“Oh, shit, no not like that, I wasn’t inviting you into my bed, I just meant back to camp, if you wanted. To go back to your tent. We could walk over. You could come along.” He rubbed his face with his palm. “That was stupid.”  


I spared him the embarrassment of teasing and prodding about what would happen if we were to share a tent, and I convinced myself that was entirely for his sake. “I should come along. It’s late, and we start traveling tomorrow.”  


He uncovered his face. It was completely red. I choked down a laugh and grabbed his outstretched hand. He pulled me up, and even that made my chest tighten. My head barely came up to his chin. So close, we were so, mercilessly close.  


I took a step back. I pretended not to see how his shoulders dropped, how our hands slid apart as if they weren’t ready to let go. Not a word was exchanged between us as I bent down to grab my bow and quiver, keeping them in one hand as we walked back to camp.  


He left me at my tent with a quiet, fond smile. One that I foolishly returned. There was something he wanted to say, I could tell by the desperate way he looked at me. I begged him not to. I begged him not to make it any harder than it was to just walk away.  


He must have seen that in my eyes, because he did. He just walked away. I thought that was what I wanted, but as I watched his back move farther away to his own tent, a sinking weight of disappointment dragged me downwards.  


I sighed, and finally walked into the pitch black of my tent. I lay down in my armor, my bow right beside me.  


Lathbora viran: to yearn for what you can never know.


End file.
